Recuperation
by EvilChick13
Summary: 'When they climb onto the deck of the ship they are met by silence. Thousands of pale, scared faces staring at the last few men to escape from Hardhome. Jon doesn't look over his shoulder at the beach, but Tormund does. The White Walker is still staring at them, but the wights are drawing back.' Life continues, even after Hardhome.


When they climb onto the deck of the ship they are met by silence. Thousands of pale, scared faces staring at the last few men to escape from Hardhome. Jon doesn't look over his shoulder at the beach, but Tormund does. The White Walker is still staring at them, but the wights are drawing back. "Alright," says Jon, in a voice that carries farther than it should in the quiet air. "Let's head out." The order is carried from ship to ship, and soon enough that foul coastline is fading from view. The movement necessary to pilot the ships slowly eases the stifling mood that had fallen over the passengers and crew, and the settling of the last of the Free Folk to come aboard the ships brings the atmosphere to something nearly relaxed. Tormund thinks, grievously, that the attack brought together all the people on the ships, and without it there would be tension between the different clans, and the Free Folk and Crows. As it is everyone just settles in beside each other to wait out the journey.

Tormund sits with Jon, several crows, and some old Free Folk in the captain's quarter's of the ship. A few of the women had claimed the bed and looked like they would make you deeply regret having to ask them to leave once they made port. One of them was snoring. The rest of the Free Folk were spread about around them on blankets or cloaks. The Crows were sitting around a table, making quiet conversation while picking at some food one of them had brought up from the stores after everything settled down. Tormund sat somewhat separated from the Crows, slightly closer to the Free Folk, but unmistakably at their table. Jon sat beside him.

Jon is pale on the best of days, and now with the blood on his face and dark circles around his eyes he looks the colour of his bastard name. Tormund wonders if the blood is his or not. Jon hasn't said anything about it, just quietly eaten a biscuit with some water, making a comment here or there. Tormund himself was almost enjoying the salty dried meat he was chewing on. He was starved, and they had plenty of food, he'd made sure of that before they left. He cut into the conversation of the Crows or Free Folk when he pleased, always talking around whatever he had in his mouth at the time.

The door to the room opened, letting in a cold ocean breeze and a small Crow. He stared with wide eyes at the table. "Lord Commander?" he asked Jon.

"Yes?"

The Crow blinked widely. "I've been helping with wounds, and bandaging people up. A few of the Wildlings have been helping, which is great. But we don't have enough medical supplies. We didn't come prepared for a battle."

"Alright, Colin. Treat those who need it most, and tell everyone else that they will be treated when we make port." The Crow nodded, and glanced back at the door, obviously ready to leave now that his job was done. "Have you eaten anything yet?"

"No."

Jon gestured to the food remaining on the table. "You should eat something."

The Crow smiled gratefully, and snatched a handful of food off the table. "Thank you, Jon. I'd forgotten I was hungry. I will be back later, unless anyone needs me here now?" He glanced around, probably looking for obvious gaping wounds. If anyone was hurt, it wasn't apparent under the thick furs everyone in the room was wearing.

"No, you can go back to what you were doing," Jon says after a pause.

The Crow nodded then left. One of the Crows, Edd, said "I'm glad he's here, he's much better with a bloody wound than I am." Everyone around the table agreed.

After night fall, when most everyone was asleep, Tormund asked Jon about the dragon glass. "Gone," Jon said. "The leader of the Thenns distracted an attacking White Walker while I went after the glass. He was killed before I could retrieve it." He hunched in on himself, obviously remembering the battle. "It was fast, strong, and skilled. Like nothing I've ever fought before. It tossed me around like a doll. Its weapon shattered a sword that I picked up. I thought I was going to die, but Longclaw stopped its blade and did not shatter. It killed the White Walker."

"You killed a White Walker," Tormund repeated. "Jon, if you die can I have this blade of yours?"

Jon stared at him with wide eyes and slightly gaping mouth. He looked ridiculous when surprised. Tormund laughed. "Don't worry, I won't kill you for it." Jon didn't look much more relieved. "What is your sword made of, that it can kill a White Walker?"

"Valyrian steel. But that won't help us much, there are only a few swords, and no one remembers how to forge it." Jon pauses, looks somewhat sheepish, as if believing what he is about to say is something to be ashamed of. "They say it was forged using spells and dragonfire."

"Just like you Southerners, to forget how to make something that can kill a fucking White Walker." Jon smiled a little, this time recognizing what he said as a joke. "That what got you hurting so bad? Fighting a White Walker?"

Jon frowned. "Is it obvious?"

"Not really," Tormund admitted. "But your pretty white skin looks grey. I wouldn't notice if I hadn't been stuck with you for company for however long."

Jon grimaces. "I think my ribs are cracked. But there isn't really anything that can be done about that. It can wait until we make port."

Tormund thinks about his. He knows fuck all about medicine, but he's heard enough men complain about cracked ribs over the years to know that Jon is true. But that doesn't make him entirely right. "I think when that little Crow comes back you should get him to look at your ribs. He probably can't do much for you, but he can see if you broke them. You can't afford to show weakness."

Tormund watched Jon look down, thinking about this. He met his eyes again, and said, "You really think the Free Folk would-"

"Yes, I know we would. But they aren't who I'm worried about; I can handle them." He stared Jon in the eye. The boy needed to understand this. "I'm talking about your own people."

"The Night's Watch?"

Tormund nodded. "Aye. Not the Crows here with you, they have and will go through hell with you. But some of those men back at your Castle Black, if they see any weakness from you they will not hesitate to use it. Some of those men hate you, Jon."

"I know." Jon looked resigned to the fact, and ready to kill those men if need be.

"So we're agreed. When that little Crow comes back he'll look at your ribs."

Jon nodded. "Agreed."


End file.
